Bailey ordered a drink. Chagra scooped ice into a glass. He poured, then set the drink in front of Bailey.
"So, what's new in here?" Bailey said.
Chagra glanced at the couple sitting next to Bailey, who continued to rattle intensely to one another. "There's a lady lawyer at the end of the bar that likes to take it in the ass," he said. "She'll even tell you that if you ask her… Interested?"
Travis Bailey shook his head. "No dirt roads for me," he said with a smile.
"You should have seen this young bitch that cruised in here last night. She sat down right where you are and starts talking about how she loves coke. She was a healthy-looking bitch, a jogger type with a great rack … a couple of real pointers. And I'm not talking about a bra with rubber nipples. I'm talking about a pair of honest-to-Christ pointed nips that must have weighed as much as silver dollars." He cupped his hands at chest level. "I'm talking about radar, man. Plus the bitch had a nice ass; small waist, nice ass. I blew a little smoke on her, introduced her to a few of the studio people who hang in here. Like I can see she's buying my act. Before closing time I hit on her and she goes for the 'horn a little coke at my place' act. The only problem is I don't have any fucking cocaine! She follows me over to my pad. She wants a spoon right off. I asked her to wait, that I'm into balling naturally. I promised her I'd drag out my stash as soon as we got it on. 'Fair enough,' she says. Then she bends over, undoes her four-hooker and tosses the rest of her clothes. She musta read one of those sex manuals. You should see her act. She was really getting into it. Afterward we're lying there in the bed. The bitch is sweating. She has come all over her and she says, 'Where's the cocaine?' I told the dumb bitch to get the fuck out of my apartment. You should have seen the look on her face!"
They laughed.
"Bitches like her are in here every night," Chagra said.
"They all claim to have a script that's going to sell next week. Either that or they've just had an argument with their boyfriend and she walked out and left him in Palm Springs or La Paz. I let 'em tell their little sob story, then I ball 'em at closing time."
A red-haired cocktail waitress wearing a see-through blouse flitted up to the bar station. "Hello, Travis," she said in her best slinky tone. She called off the names of drinks. Chagra prepared them quickly and set them on her serving tray. "You're sure talkative tonight," she said to Bailey. He ignored her as she hefted her tray and headed toward the lounge area.
"There's a Jewish guy at the end of the bar who's got the broad sitting next to him convinced that he's a Cherokee Indian," Chagra said, laughing.
"We need to talk," Bailey said.
"I know we do."
"Get someone to fill in for you." Bailey climbed off the bar stool and wandered into the men's room. The carpeted and mirrored room smelled of lilac deodorant. It was vacant. He turned on the faucet and washed his hands. A minute later Chagra pushed open the door. He joined Bailey at the sinks. He had a worried look.
"I wish you would have told me you were going to do it," Chagra said. "It was chickenshit that you didn't tell me.
"Tell you what, Bones?"
"Lee screwed up and if somebody screws me I don't give a shit what happens to him," Bones said. "Lee had it coming. You and I always split even with him and he turned around and fucked us right in the ass. Things were going perfect and he ruined everything by shaving off the top. I told you when I first brought him in that I wasn't one hundred percent sure of the motherfucker… but that he seemed okay. I had no way of knowing."
"He was okay…" Bailey said, "until he got greedy." His smile was sarcastic.
"I told Emil that Lee sold that Picasso behind our backs. I had a right to know if you were going to do anything radical. You should have told me."
Travis Bailey dried his hands. He slipped a comb out of his back pocket and ran it through his hair a few times. "You've made your point," he said to the mirror. He put the comb away. Having slipped the note with the Coventry Circle address from his pocket, he handed it to Chagra.
Chagra unfolded the note. His lips moved as he read it.
"Questions?" Bailey said.
"Dogs?"
"Emil says no dogs."
"Is he sure there are no dogs? It seems like everyone who lives on Coventry Circle has dogs."
Bailey shrugged. "Emil said there are no dogs to worry about."
"Is there a safe?"
"He didn't see one when he cased the place," Bailey said, again speaking to the mirror. "But if you see one, I'd say it would definitely be worth spending some time on. Why rush and miss a prize?"
The men's room door opened. Bailey and Chagra busied themselves at the sink. A frizzy-haired man in his twenties wearing a red jump suit and European-frame eyeglasses staggered in the door and approached a urinal.
Bailey followed Chagra out the door. In the dark alcove outside the rest room he grabbed Chagra by the arm. "Do you remember the address?"
"Fourteen-oh-two Coventry Circle."
Travis Bailey pulled the note bearing the address from Chagra's shirt pocket. He tore the note into pieces and tossed them into a stand-up ashtray. "Go for it," he said, and walked away. As he passed through the lounge area on his way to the front door, the stage lights came on. A tall black woman wearing a skin-tight black leather outfit strutted onto the stage. The combo behind her started playing. She straddled the microphone and shrieked unintelligible lyrics.
The ceiling lights pulsated.
Charles Carr sat at his desk in the Field Office. The notepaper scribbled with phone numbers that he'd found in Leon Sheboygan's apartment was in front of him. He lit a cigarette and set it in an ashtray. He dialed a number. It was not in service. He drew a line through it.
He dialed another. A man with a whiskey voice said, "Hello."
"This is Charlie," Carr said. "Did you hear about Leon?"
"Leon who?"
"Leon Sheboygan."
"What about him?" the man said. He yawned Indian-yell style.
"He got wasted by the cops."
"No lie?"
"No lie. They blew him up inside a house in Beverly Hills."
The man yawned again. "That is some real heavy shit, man. Wow."
"I'm trying to get in touch with Bones to let him know," Carr said. "…any ideas where I can reach him?"
"You tried Manny?"
"Not yet."
"He should know," the man said.
"I lost his phone number."
"Where'd you say we met?"
"At that party."
"Yeah, I think I remember. What'd ya say your name was?"
"Charlie."
"Okay," the man mumbled. He read off a number.
Carr wrote it down, then hung up the receiver for a moment. He dialed. A woman answered. Carr asked for Manny.
"Manny's not here," she said. "Who is calling?"
"Charlie. I'm trying to find Bones. It's important."
"Bones hasn't been around here in a couple of weeks," she said. "…Charlie who?"
"Lee's friend."
"Lee's dead."
"That's why I'm trying to find Bones. "
"I think Manny is supposed to see him this week."
"Where?"
"Fuck if I know."
Carr said thanks and hung up. Carr dialed another number. A woman answered.
"I'm trying to find Lee," Carr said. "Is he there?"
A silence. "God…" she said in an anguished tone, "haven't you heard?"
"About what?"
"Lee is…uh…dead. Sorry for saying it over the phone like that."